Past Forgotten
by Hester Prynne
Summary: Hermione and Oliver meet up two years after she graduates . . . Stuff happens.
1. Elaborate Lives

PAST FORGOTTEN  
  
ONE  
[enchantment passing through]  
  
but why should i tell you this  
a stranger i've just met  
a woman who i hardly know at all  
and should forget  
a journey we can only dream of  
enchantment passing through  
and how is it i say these things  
so easily to you  
  
[elaborate lives -- aida]  
  
  
He had watched her walk into the cafe, pen tucked behind her ear, notebook and thick paperback under her arm. She'd purchased a mocha frapuccino and a scone and sat alone in the corner opposite him, poring over her novel, pausing occasionally to scribble a few lines in her notebook, her lips forming silent words as she wrote.  
  
There was something oddly familiar about that girl, Oliver Wood thought as he sipped his butterbeer and drank in the dull buzz of conversations around him, his eyes never leaving Her.  
  
Her hair was dark, and she dressed in varying shades of brown. She seemed to give off an aura of intellect and all-knowing, as she pursed her lips in concentration.   
  
That concentration broke suddenly, as she glanced up. At this Oliver started, looking away quickly. After a moment the girl shrugged and returned to her book.  
  
//What the hell do you think you're doing, watching a girl like that,// he scolded himself sharply. //You're a bloody pervert, a voyeur, and you have no right to be staring at someone you don't even know. It's rude. After all, how would you feel if someone you'd never met simply . . . //  
  
"Excuse me?" a soft voice interrupted his inner soliloquy, and Oliver raised his eyes to meet those of the girl he had been watching just seconds before.  
  
She smiled. "Listen, I don't usually accost strangers, but you look familiar I thought I saw you watching me and you looked dreadfully nervous and since you had no one else to speak to I thought I'd come over and say hello."  
  
"Erm." Oliver blinked. "Hello." He extended his hand to her. "I'm Oliver Wood."  
  
"Oliver Wood?" It was her turn to appear suprised. "//The// Oliver Wood, of Puddlemere United Reserve, formerly captain of the Hogwarts Gryffindor team?"  
  
He nodded. "The very same."  
  
"Wow." Her eyes grew wide. "I'm . . . Well, er, I guess we do know each other, then, though I don't suppose you'd remember me. I'm Hermione Granger."  
  
His hand dropped suddenly, as though it had suddenly grown to heavy for him to hold up anymore, and he stood. "Granger?" He blinked several times, as if to adjust his vision. "Little Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's friend?"  
  
She grinned.  
  
"How is Harry these days? Are you two still at Hogwarts?"  
  
Hermione shook her head, indicating the negative. "Graduated two years ago. I've not heard from Harry much recently, what with all the publicity from defeating You-Know-Who, but I've read in the papers that he's to be married sometime next year."  
  
"Married?" Oliver's eyes grew wide at this last statement. "To whom?"  
  
"Cho Chang -- don't know if you remember her or not, but she was the Ravenclaw Seeker the year you graduated. They've been together since sixth year." She smiled again. "I'm so glad for them, too. They're so sickeningly perfect for one another that it just might work, you know?"  
  
Oliver nodded a few times, speechless.  
  
"Well," he said, after recovering his voice, "I've got to get going now but I'd love to continue this conversation later. Are you doing anything tomorrow night?"  
  
"Ehh. Don't think so."  
  
Oliver grinned. "Well, then. Will you let me take you out to dinner, Miss Granger?"  
  
Hermione was silent for a moment, opening and closing her mouth several times while attempting to decide whether or not Oliver Wood had just asked her on a date.  
  
"No, no, not like that," he laughed, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Just a simple, between-friends get together to talk about old times. No pressure."  
  
She thought for a moment more before nodding the affirmative.  
  
"All right then," Oliver said, pulling on his wool jacket and draping a scarf around his neck. "Tomorrow. It's a date -- I mean, friendly assimilation of old colleagues," he revised, noting the sharp look Hermione shot him at the mention of the word "date."  
  
An awkward silence followed, which was broken as Oliver offered his arm in a chivalrous gesture.   
  
"Shall we?"  
  
Hermione smirked. 


	2. If Only

PAST FORGOTTEN  
  
TWO  
[if only]  
  
if all we'd lost somehow came back  
if all that died again would grow  
if only it were so  
these are the loneliest words i know  
if all our dreams were golden  
and never black or gray  
if all our dreams came true then  
we'd never half to say  
if only it were so  
  
[if only -- whistle down the wind]  
  
  
Two empty bottles of wine lay between the old friends.   
  
Hermione was somewhat confused. What time was it, and how many glasses of wine had she drunk, and why did she feel so damned lightheaded every time Oliver smiled that infuriating smile of his and oooh, she'd better pay attention because he was asking her a question again.  
  
"So why didn't you ever come up with Ron and Harry to fly around a bit on my family's grounds?" he was asking.  
  
"I hated flying," Hermione was saying, "but sixth year, because Harry needled me so much about not being able to handle a broomstick, I decided to give it another go. So I do pretty well on the basic flying skills, but on the day of the final exam I completely choke up and lose control of the broomstick and -- " she stifled a giggle before composing herself and continuing her story -- "go flying straight at Madam Hooch and barely miss her before crashing into the ground!"  
  
Oliver snorted in amusement. "Y'mean you dunno how to fly?"  
  
"Of //course// I know how to fly, you dolt!" Hermione slurred. "It was the damn broomstick that threw me off. I knew exactly what I was doing."  
  
He grinned sarcastically, noting his companion's obvious state of inebriation. "Right. Eh. Shouldn't we be getting you home soon?"  
  
"So soon?" She feigned disappointment, pouting in his direction. "Well, since you are The Famous and Influential Oliver Wood, I suppose you know best."  
  
"Of course I do." Oliver nodded. "Check, please?"  
  
* * *   
  
"Erm." Oliver Wood bit his lip awkwardly, raising an eyebrow. "So, should I call a taxi to get you home, or shall we hoof it?"  
  
"Well," Hermione began thoughtfully, "I suppose the gentlemanly thing to do would be to walk me home."  
  
"Right, right . . . "  
  
"And, if you're lucky" she added with a sly wink, "I may invite you in for coffee . . . "  
  
//Did she just insinuate what I thought she . . . //  
  
"Coming?" Hermione tottered slightly as she turned around to look at her companion, still a bit tipsy.  
  
Oliver shrugged, jogging towards his friend and placing an arm around her waist to steady her as she stumbled.   
  
Hermione's thoughts were jumbled, and her head was still spinning, partially from the alcohol and partially because of what she was doing, and who with. Here was Oliver Wood and they had just eaten dinner and he was walking her home and his arm had just gone around her waist. She'd never been this physically close to a man before, apart from a few sisterly hugs or kisses on the cheek given to Harry or Ron, and now that this attractive man had his arm around her waist, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted him ever to let go.  
  
All too soon, they had arrived at her flat. Hermione stopped, signalling that this was where she had to go, and when he removed his arm from around her she felt cold and empty.  
  
"Well, this is my place. Thank you, I had a lovely evening," she said, half-seriously considering grabbing him around the collar right now and pulling him close and kissing him on the mouth.   
  
No. No, she couldn't do that, because she was Hermione Granger. And he was Oliver Wood. And this was an evening out between friends -- //platonic// friends. And platonic friends didn't kiss.  
  
"All right," he was saying. "Well, then, I trust you don't need my help to get through the door and up the stairs, so I guess this is goodbye." And he turned to go.  
  
No. She didn't want that to happen and before either of them realized what she was doing, Hermione had grabbed hold of his arm, turned him around and raised up on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his.  
  
Before Oliver's mind had time to register exactly what had taken place, Hermione had pulled away and disappeared through the doorway. He stood there in shock for a moment before numbly moving to the curb to hail a taxi. 


	3. Any Moment

PAST FORGOTTEN  
  
THREE  
[any moment]  
  
was that him? yes it was  
was that me? no it wasn't,  
just a trick of the woods  
just a moment,   
one peculiar passing moment  
must it all be either less or more  
either plain or grand?  
is it always "or?"  
is it never "and?"  
  
[moments in the woods -- "into the woods"]  
  
  
The telephone rang -- one, two three.  
  
Hermione groaned and rolled over, burying her face in her pillow to hide from the too-bright sunlight spilling over the windowsill and onto her face. Her head ached like nothing she had ever experienced, no doubt as a result of the excess of alcohol she had consumed the previous night.  
  
Four, five, six, seven.  
  
The rings seemed to penetrate her very being, reverberating insistently through her head, driving Hermione mad.   
  
Eight, nine, ten, eleven . . .   
  
"For Chrissakes, stop, stop, STOP!" Hermione sat bolt upright in bed.  
  
The repetetive sound halted mid-ring after seventeen.  
  
The force of the hangover hit Hermione once more, and she dashed off to hang her head over the toilet.  
  
Thirteen retches, four toilet-flushes, a quarter of a bottle of painkillers and one shower later, the telephone began to ring. Hermione flung open the toilet door, reaching her hand outside.   
  
"Accio telephone."   
  
The appliance flew into her hand obediently, and she clicked the "talk" button.  
  
"Hullo?" she croaked.  
  
A deeper voice on the other end answered her. "'Mione? Is that you?"  
  
"Who else would it be?" she replied, somewhat irritably.   
  
Oliver Wood chuckled nervously on the other end of the line. "Listen, about last night -- "  
  
"Last night?" Hermione groaned, remembering the bottle-and-a-half of wine she had consumed the previous evening. "Oh, gods. I don't want to talk about last night. I don't want to so much as *think* about last night."  
  
"Oh." He was silent for a moment. "Well," he continued, after a very pregnant pause, "I just wanted to sort things out. You just caught me by suprise, y'see, and -- "  
  
"What?" She thought for a moment, before the sudden realization dawned on her. "Oh. That. Listen, Oliver, I didn't mean to do that. Or anything like that. It's just that -- that -- "  
  
"That what?"  
  
Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, searching for words to express what she was thinking. "You know, when one drinks too much -- as I did last night, obviously, judging from the immense hangover I woke up with and blurred images of what happened last night -- one does things that one does not necessarily intend to do. Sometimes -- things, they -- they . . . " She opened and closed her mouth a few times, speechless. "Last night, I didn't know what I was doing and thoughts that may have occurred, even just once, became actions and I really didn't mean to -- to -- "  
  
"Kiss me?"  
  
She nodded. "Mmm. That's the one."  
  
"So you . . . find me attractive?" His words were laced with humor, and she could practically see the impish grin spread across his face.  
  
"Oliver, stop shitting about and just tell me why you called," she replied quickly, changing the conversation.  
  
He chuckled amiably. "Well."  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Well, I actually called to see if you would be available to grab lunch this afternoon. As a casual, between-friends thing. Like last night." Hermione inhaled sharply, and he quickly revised his statement. "Like last night. Except without the wine."  
  
She smiled despite herself. "Well . . . I might be available."  
  
"Fabulous. Then I'll pick you up at your place in twenty minutes." He hesitated. "Is twenty minutes okay?"  
  
"'Tis twenty years 'till then."  
  
* * *   
  
"You're joking. You were *seventeen* before you'd had your first kiss?"   
  
Hermione flushed scarlet, glancing nervously around the crowded deli. "There's nothing wrong with that. I'm just . . . a bit picky."  
  
"And who did the honors?" Her companion raised an eyebrow inquisitively.  
  
"Percy Weasley." Hermione shook her head violently as Oliver burst into incredulous laughter. "No, no. He's really quite sweet when you manage to tear him away from his work for half a moment."  
  
"Gods. Percy Weasley." He ran a hand through his hair, disbelieving. "So you two . . . "  
  
"Dated a bit, yes." She grinned, nodding. "After he quit his job with the Ministry -- decided he was fed up with being ordered around. Opened a rare-and-used bookshop in Hogsmeade, actually."  
  
Oliver laughed again, and Hermione found herself distracted by the way the light reflected in his dark eyes. "So what happened?" he wanted to know.  
  
"Oh, you know." She waved a hand dismissively. "We decided we were far better as friends than as lovers. Too alike to work together . . . Oh, but we still keep in touch," she added, noting Oliver's vague concern.  
  
He nodded. "That's good."  
  
"Yes." She finished her sandwich, then glanced back up at him. "So, I've told my story, now you tell yours. Who exactly was the first to woo the famous Mister Oliver Wood?"  
  
He chuckled a bit at her phrasing. "Fourth year. Katharine Bletchley."  
  
Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Bletchley? As in, Slytherin Keeper Bletchley?"  
  
Oliver nodded guiltily. "She was . . . different. We had a lot in common, she and I." He smiled distantly for a moment, remembering, and unconsciously reached over and took one of Hermione's hands in his, stroking the back of it absently with his thumb.  
  
The touch electrified her and she pulled back.  
  
He jumped slightly at her sudden movement. "Did I do something wrong?"  
  
"What?" Hermione shook her head violently. "No, no. I just . . . Percy used to do that when we were together, and it makes me remember . . . things." She lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry."  
  
Oliver reached over and tipped her chin up gently. "Don't be." 


	4. As The Sirens Call The Sailors

PAST FORGOTTEN  
  
FOUR  
[as the sirens call the sailors]  
  
damn the passion, damn the sighs  
damn the light that's in her eyes  
i know too well where it has led before  
she saves me but i can't be saved  
frees me but i'm still enslaved  
no i battle what i most adore  
oh, let me sail away, get lost at sea  
let me lose myself where i am blind and free  
for as the sirens call the sailors  
she calls to me  
  
[sirens -- "jane eyre"]  
  
  
Oliver reached over and tipped her chin up gently. "Don't be."  
  
She saw him move towards her, felt his hand move up from her chin to lightly stroke her hair, her cheek, his thumb brushing along the line of her cheekbone. Hermione felt a sudden flush of warmth, a rush of blood spreading quickly upwards, from her neck to her face, and recoiled.  
  
"What?" Oliver's face fell. "What is it?"  
  
She opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to think of what to say. "I -- you -- me -- this won't work." Hermione shook her head, trying to clear it. "Look, Ol', I like you a lot, and you're a great friend, but I just don't . . . "  
  
He drew back, slightly offended. "Don't what? Am I not good enough for you? Am I not smart enough, not good-looking enough, not . . . "  
  
She gently placed her hand on Oliver's in an attempt to silence him. "It's not that." She drew a deep breath. "I'm just not . . . I'm not ready for a relationship right now."  
  
Cue awkward silence.  
  
After a moment, Oliver spoke. "Hermione, I -- " He bit his lip nervously. "Why?"  
  
"Because I don't know you well enough -- "  
  
"But you and Percy -- "   
  
"No." She shook her head again. "No, Percy and I are -- were -- different. I visited the Burrow on my summers, did you know that?"  
  
"But -- "  
  
"And," Hermione continued, "when Ron and Harry went off on one of their adventures, no-girls-allowed, or when they were acting immature, or when I needed help on holiday work, I'd go to Percy and we talked and, Oliver, we were friends. We were good friends for the longest time before anything even happened. And still it didn't work out." She was babbling now, and she knew it, and her bottom lip was trembling and, what was more, her eyes were beginning to burn like they did before she cried. "And I don't want to risk anything like that again. I don't want either of us to get hurt."  
  
Oliver's jaw dropped, and he sat speechless for a moment before standing abruptly and hurrying out the door.  
  
"Oliver, I -- " she called after him. But he had run round the corner and Disapparated before she had the chance to explain further.  
  
Helplessly, Hermione sank into a chair, laid her head on her hands and began to cry.  
  
* * *   
  
One, two, three.  
  
Hermione Granger waited patiently.  
  
Five, six, seven.  
  
"Oliver-Wood-if-you're-there-pick-up," she said into the reciever, somewhat edgily.  
  
Twelve, thirteen, fourteen.  
  
"OLIVER GODDAMMIT PICK UP THE BLOODY TELEPHONE!"  
  
The telephone had rung sixteen more times before Hermione threw it back onto its cradle. Frustrated, she stood up and paced back and forth, muttering obscenities to herself for ruining what could have been a meaningful relationship.  
  
"If you keep pacing like that you'll wear out the floor," a voice from the corner intoned.   
  
Hermione shrieked and, losing her balance, tumbled to the ground in a heap. Two feet arrived in her line of sight almost immediately, and a hand reached down, offering to help her up.  
  
A hand attached to an arm attached to a torso attached to a head belonging to --  
  
"Percy Weasley?"  
  
The red-haired young man smiled obligingly, gently pulling her to her feet. "I would've rung you before I came over, but your telephone line was busy every time I tried, and you don't have a fireplace, and I figured since there was no Apparition barrier in your building . . . "  
  
She had, by this point, regained the capacity of speech. "You startled me a bit, is all."  
  
Percy shrugged, giving her that lopsided grin that was entirely his. "That's the downside to Apparition, I suppose -- You can't knock."  
  
Seeing the familiar face of someone she trusted so completely caused Hermione to be overcome by emotion, and she grabbed him in a sudden, desperate hug, tears stinging her eyes. "It's so good to see you again." 


End file.
